Just a Quick Peek

         Highlight it, de-emphasize it. Order it into columns, mark it in red. Fill it, un-fill it. Verify it, check it off the list. In the words of the premier French electro-house musical duo, Daft Punk’s song Technologic, I have done the whole gambit of it:

Trash it, change it, mail - upgrade it,

Charge it, point it, zoom it, press it,

Snap it, work it, quick - erase it,

Write it, cut it, paste it, save it,

Load it, check it, quick - rewrite it,

Plug it, play it, burn it, rip it,

Drag and drop it, zip - unzip it,

Lock it, fill it, call it, find it,

View it, code it, jam - unlock it,

Surf it, scroll it, pause it, click it,

Cross it, crack it, switch - update it,

Name it, rate it, tune it, print it,

Scan it, send it, fax - rename it,

Turn it, leave it, start - format it.

         Once I think of it, the song plays over in my head, and narrates my day: makes it more bearable and entertaining. Maybe at another place and time I might feel proud of my work, more appreciate of my experience, the apples of my efforts are harvested and an identifiable form I can point to and say “I did that,” to those that passed by. Maybe another time, place, but not here and now.

         I surfed the net for stimulated background I listen to posted public radio shows, technical talks in my field, read a few news articles, in between excel sheets, weekly test forms and databases.

         All the scientist are right, the internet has shot my attention span and thus it has yet to satisfy me in my hours of need of mental sustenance. And I think of the person who said that popular culture is actually claiming that it all makes us smarter; I think he is a liar. I struggle for my mind to stay latched on one given topic, thought process, goal, task. I just get bored too easily. Except… My eye drifts to the side. No! Focus!

         In the back of my mind I recognize that I am listening to a discussion on ecological systems in relation to the global food systems. I don’t need to pay attention since I recognize the speaker and the story he is relating since I read it in his book: my favorite of the particular topic. But still I can’t focus properly.

         I find eye constently being drawn to the side, to the black hard cover with the library bar code exposed on the spine. The shinny embossed text of the title, and the author shining in the light of my computer screen. Taunting me. I cautiously turn my head to the cubicle behind and diagonal to mine. Satisfied, I pull the book next to me and a crack the book open to where I slipped a scrap of paper in the margin poking out of the top of the bound pages. I quick look won’t hurt.

         I check behind myself again, I return to the book flipping the pages, and running my fingers down the text to make sure I remember the precise place I had stopped. I close the book on my finger and turn it to the side, to gauge what percentage of the book I have read so far.

         I check behind myself again. I have nothing to be nervous about. Technically I am not reading on the job, I’m just looking. Just looking, when the book is laid open in front of me. Only a glance, when it is only innocently resting in front of the keyboard I have pushed back to create space for it to be splayed out before me.

         Just a glimpse, when I skim a the last paragraph I have processed when I was truly reading it last.

         Just looking.

         Just peaking.

         Only a quick browse, flip, peruse.

         I hear a sudden chirp. I feel a sudden jolt of awareness and alarm, as I was ripped out of my reverie and from half way through a new chapter, when someone’s wrist watch alarmed from somewhere in the honeycomb of cubicles. I shake my mouse, since my screen has gone asleep by this time. Ten minutes past noon.

         My mood perks: lunch time. I grab my book, and I briskly walk past the mostly empty cubicles since everyone else has already noticed the call for lunch while I was blissfully ‘elsewhere’.

         Instead of walking two blocks to the nearest café around, I go a few feet out into the parking lot of the drab grey building, with my keys softly jingling in my pocket. Sliding my key into the lock of my car, I lean in to the driver side and I press the button to unlock the backseat.

         Ahh. I lounge in the backseat, taking off my shoes, propping my bare toes up on the armrest of the opposite side. I ball up a spare jacket behind my head. I check my watch and I rationalize that an hour lunch starts now, which will give me plenty of time to finish the chapter, or maybe even the one after that? I really should keep my numbers even. Yes, even is good.